Nightwalker
by Everything-In-Focus-94
Summary: Vampire!Sherlock. How he became one and how it affected him... Going to be a short one with only a few parts guys :
1. Chapter 1: Retribution

Nightwalker

The case had been extremely dull, obvious and boring in Sherlock's eyes... He had taken it for a mere distraction from life nothing more. A killer puncturing the victim's necks and letting them bleed out on the floor through the perfectly placed identical holes. A person obsessed with the occult, acting out their diseased and strange desires through murder.

Sherlock looked into the dingy blackness. Without much difficulty he'd found the "vampires" lair, an underground sewer, full of rats and faeces. The person was stereotypical if nothing else. The gun raised slowly in his hand, the other fumbling in his coat pocket for a tiny torch he'd brought. It clicked on quietly.

Unbeknownst to Sherlock, in the darkness a few miles away, a person feasting on their latest kill looked up at the noise, a wan smile appearing on their lips, hiding the elongated fangs beneath their lips.

Sherlock didn't see, hear or even sense the woman behind him before; she clasped her hands around his neck. He yelped as the hands pressed on his pulse point searching for the blood that was thundering loudly through his veins. A cackling laugh echoed from behind him. Sherlock suddenly began doubting his hypothesis of a copy cat killer.

"I recognise your scent Sherlock Holmes" she cackled, her pointed nails running circles around his cheek. She dug her lengthened nails in causing the blood to rush to the surface and the detective to cry out with pain.

"You've been following me for days now. Can't have that..." she growled spinning the detective around to meet his eyes. The stormy grey eyes of the man widened at the women's shocking red ones, the pointed and elongated fangs and the look of pure evil and bloodlust on her face. Sherlock didn't even have time to react as the woman's mouth enclosed over his neck.

There was pain. Tearing. Unimaginable pain, as the woman's teeth pierced his skin and his life's blood poured out of the two small holes now created in his neck. Sherlock cried out trying to prise the woman off him, but she held him tight, his flailing and fighting hands in one and his neck in another, both parts of him encased in hands with talon like nails adorning them. The woman gulped, beneath his ear.

She released her grip, cackling wildly as the detective fell limply to the ground. He gasped, clasping a hand to his aching neck, feeling the blood push through his fingertips at each pump of his heart. His head began to ache, his eyesight became blurry. His heart was beginning to putter in his chest, failing to pump due to the lack of blood in his system. He gasped, feeling his body starting to heat up.

"WHATS HAPPENING!" he screamed in pain, as painful tremors began to rack through his lithe body. The woman's face hovered over his.

"Your changing Mr Holmes- the venom is wracking through your body as it did with mine all those years ago" she hissed her face ever so close to Sherlock's. He growled grasping upwards, a vain attempt to capture the woman and snap her neck clean in two. She darted away, appearing on the other side of him in the blink of an eye. She laughed that spine prickling laugh again.

"But I won't let it change you Sherlock... could you imagine? Your natural- talents enhanced by vampiric senses?" she asked, bending over Sherlock once more. His face paled as her fangs elongated even more, his blood still fresh on them forming tiny droplets on the pointed tip. He swiped at her again, but she pinned him down, her light frame suddenly strong as she straddled his chest and held his arms above his head with a single hand.

She ran her tongue across his neck, licking away the fresh blood and inhaling his scent as he'd seen his father and Mycroft do with a vintage wine. His face paled a further two shades in the darkness, his blood rushing from his face in sheer panic. The woman smiled down at him, the smile of an angel with the intent of the devil.

"Goodbye Sherlock Holmes" she whispered enclosing her mouth over his neck. And Sherlock screamed, his vision fading into blackness.


	2. Chapter 2: Revisiting

Revisiting- Part 2a- Lestrade

Lestrade's breath hitched in his throat as he saw the familiar crumpled coat lying in a heap in the blood drenched pavement. Dropping his torch in shock, he ran over to the heap, hovering over it and daring himself to turn the object and reveal what he was sure to be a horrible sight. The coat wriggled and stuttered as he watched.

He turned it over, revealing a naked young woman, blood pouring from the inch long wound in her neck, the jagged edges of it stretching from ear to ear. She whimpered as he stood over her, tears pouring down her bloodless face.

"Don't- don't wait... Run... RUN!" she screamed with her dying breath. Her body became motionless and Lestrade remained frozen to his spot in the darkened alleyway.

"Do I know you?" a voice came from behind him. Lestrade turned, as a gloved hand slammed his head into the wall beside him. His blood thundered to his head, dripping freshly from the wound that appeared in the back of his head. In the fuzzy daze of his head wound he felt a hand snake up his scalp, probing the wound. The fingers left and a sucking noise followed by a soft moan. A dark figure, moved into his eye line, bending over him before stopping. The creature breathed in for a moment, before dropping his grip on Greg's body.

"I do know you..." it half- questioned. He was in no fit state to make a reply, but a tiny flicker of recognition flared up at the man's voice. The last thing he felt was arms scooping him upwards and something sweeping over the wound in his head. The pain subsided and once more the flicker of recognition flared.

Underneath the heady, metallic stench of fresh and stale blood, there was a familiar smell to his attacker. Something extremely familiar and yet so long forgotten. His head was pounding but his skin appeared to be stitching closed. He fell into darkness as the pain consumed him.

Lestrade's eyes flickered half open but stopped as he saw the shadowed figure, carefully unlocking his top window. The man stopped as he caught his reflection in the mirror on the wall near the window.

Lestrade's heart puttered. The man was tall, his hair was curly and there his long trench coat fanned out around him. Sherlock. It was Sherlock. No sooner had Lestrade opened his mouth to speak to his long lost friend when he sight of the mirror.

The man who used to be his friend, carefully unwrapped the scarf that he always tied around his neck. Lestrade's heart virtually stopped as the scar fell away in his hand and revealed two tiny scars on the man otherwise unblemished neck. The man brushed his ice white fingers against the scars, feeling them dip inwards into his vein that no longer carried his own blood. He growled at his own lack of reflection, knowing that he should be seeing the action that he had just partook reflected back at him.

"I'm a monster" he whispered, not knowing that Lestrade was watching the whole thing unfurl. Before Lestrade could offer any type of comfort, the man shrieked a heart freezing shriek and jumped from the window. Greg jumped upwards, hanging unseen out of the window. Sherlock dropped to the floor, his coat fanning around him like wings as he landed like a cat would on both feet. Without breaking his momentum he walked off into the blackness, leaving am awestruck man behind him.

_Hunger, such hunger! Should have taken the man, SUCH Pain, burning, thirst, so thirsty... only just fed, why am I so hungry? Who was the man? John? No not John... who is John? I remember a John an- and... Baker Street. Go to visit him...No can't endanger John, why can't I endanger John...can't endanger anyone, not a killer, not an animal... Warmth, body heat... Man on his own. Hungry. Animal._

Part 2b

MYCROFT

Thunder crashed as Mycroft looked up from the papers on his desk. He sighed, removing his glasses from the bridge of his nose, pinching the skin where they had just been. His eyes flickered down to the scowling face of his younger brother peering up at him from the missing posters.

A single tear rolled down his face splashing onto the picture. Mycroft wiped the wet track away mentally chastising himself for his sudden display of emotion.

"A prey crying before I attack... how original" a deep, growling but very familiar voice muttered from behind him. Mycroft span, turning to face the man who was perched on his window sill perfectly still bar the cold breeze from the open window rustling his hair. The being seemed to be confused, his brow furrowed as he tried to understand why he'd said what he did.

"Sher- Sherlock?" he started, his eyes widening at the sight of his long lost brother. The creature remained silent, breathing heavily through his mouth, a pained expression etched onto his face as he struggled to control the shake of his hands.

"Sherlock? That was my name?" The creature, who looked somewhat like Sherlock said, curving his lips into the not quite smile that Mycroft had always associated with his brother.

"Yes... your Sherlock Holmes. The Great Consulting Detective. My Brother. " Mycroft whispered surveying him.

The crea- Sherlock looked wild. Wilder than he had ever been. His normally messy hair, had transformed into a bush of jet black curls that hung over his shoulders, dripping water silently onto his thick blue coat. His normally angular features had morphed into sharp pointed line, not a single curve appeared anywhere upon his body, but his eyes, his eyes where the most startling change. His eyes had transformed more than Mycroft could have dared to believe, even before he'd gone missing they were emotionless and dangerous, but now they looked downright cold. There was no warmth radiating from them and that same lack of warmth was echoed in that now suddenly not so familiar smile. Mycroft gasped as he saw the lightly pointed fangs, daring to poke out from beneath his brother's lips.

"What happened to you?" Mycroft began, walking towards Sherlock. Suddenly Sherlock seemed to return for a moment.

"No- don't come any closer!" he yelped holding a hand over his nostril. Mycroft ignored his brother's request moving closer to him, holding a hand out to his brother.

"It's me, Sherlock. It's Mycroft" he whispered gently.

Sherlock snapped pointed teeth at him, before recoiling in horror at himself. Mycroft continued to move closer until he was virtually nose to nose with the man who was somewhat like his brother.

"Sherlock" he said firmly. The creature whimpered, hiding his face in his coat sleeve. He repeated his brother's name again more firmly, grasping the man's face and forcing him to face him. They're eyes met and Mycroft bit back a shudder as he saw the red rings around his irises and the tiny pin-pricks of pupils.

"Yes... Mycroft" he growled back, exhaling as he let go of the breath he had been holding. Mycroft looked into his brother's face, that weary and torn face that he hadn't seen in two months and bit his lip.

"It would help things if you did not do that" Sherlock moaned, watching his brother's teeth graze over his lip. Mycroft froze, before doing something he hadn't done since his father's funeral. He enveloped his brother in his arms and hugged.

The reaction was just as violent as the one at the funeral, although instead of pushing his brother away as he did at the funeral, the Sherlock-like creature sunk his teeth deep into his neck. Mycroft shrieked trying to push himself from his brother's grip.

"Sher-lock... please!" he gasped, feeling his brothers teeth puncture even further into his skin. Sherlock yelped, pushing his brother backwards and forcing himself to release his mouth from his neck. Mycroft fell to the floor in a shaking pile, screaming in pain as blood began to seep into his soft caret covered floor.

Sherlock jumped to the floor, his eyes glowing red in the darkness, hovering his face over his brother slumped figure.

"You won't remember this Mycroft" Sherlock whispered, the colour in his eyes being engulfed by a hypnotising silvery sheen much like the colour of Sherlock's original irises. Mycroft shuddered, his body going limp, the shadow of Sherlock bending over his body towards his neck a mere shadow behind his closed eyelids. He felt fangs penetrate his neck once more.

Mycroft screamed, his eyes flying open and nearly falling from his chair in alarm. Sherlock's missing posters fell into a pile on the floor beside him. His chest rose and fell, sharply as his dark eyes flew around his darkened office. His hand absentmindedly brushed against his whole neck, touching the points where he could still feel Sherlock's fangs in his neck.

He bent down, picking the scattered paper from the floor, freezing as something caught his eye, something that you wouldn't see from any other angle. A shudder went down his spine as he saw the tiny spatters of water leading to the window and he fought back a sob as he saw the thunder flash outside and heard the thunder rumble.

_Rain. It's raining! Warm rain, or cold and feels warm against my skin. Everything feels warm against my skin, the rain, the wind, the fresh blood dripping down my chin. Your own blood, not your own blood but close, doesn't feel right in stomach. _

_Still- still..._

Part 2c- Molly

Molly knew it was a dream from the moment it began. For one she had never been to Paris let alone stood on a hotel balcony with a view of the Eiffel Tower, and for two, she most certainly would not have the guts to wear _that _dress in real life. Wine red, sparkling and ridiculously low cut and tight... yes this was blatantly a dream.

She lent delicately on the balcony, allowing the cool European breeze to ruffle her hair. She sighed arching her back, and stretching her neck out to allow as much of the breeze to reach it as possible.

"Bonjour Molly... mon cherie" a voice said in a heavy French accent from beside her. Molly jumped, placing her hand delicately over her now pounding heart. A shadowed face appeared on the balcony beside her, a face that somewhere in the back of her mind sparked a memory. Intelligent blue eyes sparkled, mesmerising her from inside the shadows.

"Who are you... what do you want?" she stared, not taking her eyes off of his. A smirk appeared in his eyes.

"My dearest Molly... you shouldn't go to sleep thinking about people, you never know if they'll slip into your dream. Do you often think of me before bed Molly?" The man purred walking into the light. Molly heart began to pound harder.

"Sherlock!" she whispered. With that she enveloped the man with a hug, no longer caring that she was wearing possibly the most revealing dress she'd ever worn and the fact that he was staring at her with a hungry look in his eyes. His nose buried into the nape of her neck and he licked the point where her pulse was closest to her skin. Suddenly Molly pushed him away, her face flustered and blushing.

"No- this isn't you. Your missing... presumed dead. You're not really here and I can't lead myself to believe this" she said quickly. Sherlock stalked forwards smiling.

"Not is all it seems Molly. Only tonight, I was with Lestrade and my own brother and I had no clue that I was. But I'm coming back Molly, the more people I visit from my past the more I know about myself, the more I can control him" he said dangerously. Molly took another step backwards.

"But you Molly, how did I miss you before. You were- are so... mouth-watering" he purred. Molly stood her ground as he closed the distance, looking down on her tiny frame from his great height.

"What- what do you want? Even in my own dream you want something from me" she said sarcastically. He smirked at her again.

"You" he said simply, that same smile etched on his lips. That was all Molly could take and soon she found herself arched against the fangs in his mouth as they clung to her collar bone. She moaned as the bite send pulse waves around her body and his hands traipsed over her body, pulling lightly at her clothes.

His lips crashed into hers, the taste of him mixing with her own blood in his mouth. He growled moving at the speed of light, pressing his hands against the skin of her legs and removing her dress as he went, and soon she found herself manoeuvred so that she was pressed beneath the bed and his body. Sherlock smirked up at her as he moved down her body.

Molly groaned as her eyes flashed open revealing the darkness of her own bedroom. The fantasy was fading fast and she looked begrudgingly at the missing poster that remained at her bedside, the last thing that she had seen before she'd gone to bed. She huffed, pressing her body into her pillow and allowing the darkness to enclose her once more. She didn't see the figure peering at her through her closed bedroom window.

In fact Molly thought nothing more of the dream until next day in the lab when she collapsed during an autopsy. Molly had paled and gaped as she was ordered to go see a doctor by a concerned colleague. His preliminary diagnosis. Extensive blood loss.


	3. Chapter 3: Realisation

Part 3 – Realisation

John had to admit, he was more than a little surprised when three panicked people flooded 221b in the late winters afternoon of that day. Even more so were the people when they realized that their reason for being there was all very similar. Suspiciously so. They all claimed that they had been visited by Sherlock, in a dream or otherwise the night previously.

Firstly John was misbelieving, but his blood had run cold when Molly had recounted her encounter and said how her blood pressure had been lower than ever before when her colleague had checked it. This of course had not been the stimulus to scare John so, but more so the reactions of the other men. Both had spun to turn at the woman, the same look of shock and fear reflecting in their eyes.

"Molly, in your dream, did he-"Yes" she interjected, nodding her head ferociously, her eyes now widening to the levels of the men. Three sets of hands flew to the pulse point of their necks; all freezing in their actions as they saw the others do so.

"So does this mean- Sherlock-?" Molly whispered, her voice trailing off in disbelief. The two men continued to prod at their necks, Lestrade rubbing the back of his, murmuring and Mycroft gently prodding the smooth slightly pinker skin that he felt beneath his finger tips. Newly healed skin.

"He mentioned you" Molly said under her breath, turning her eyes from the floor to the men. They froze once more.

"What did he say?" Mycroft said urgently. Molly shook her head trying to clear the cobwebs from the previous night.

"I don't know... it's all a blur... A surreal blur... But I know he mentioned you before- oh" she breathed, her memories flooding back. A deep scarlet blush spread across her cheeks and around her neck.

"That's why he was with me, he doesn't want the blood, he needs it, and he needed us" she muttered her large round eyes span on the three men in the room.

"He needs us, he said he was getting the monster under control and that's why he came to us... He finally was able to come and get help. He wants' us to help him" she finished. The men stared at her curiously.

"Molly, I hate to burst your rose tinted bubble of Sherlock, but he's a killer now, he killed a young girl moments before he attacked me. That girl lying on the slab in your morgue with her throat ripped out is because of him" Lestrade said gently, laying a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off giving the man a stony glare.

"No- no you don't get it Lestrade. He was _almost_ like himself with me... it seems the more we remind him of who he is, the more like him he becomes. You met him earlier than me, maybe just maybe he could be different by now, and maybe the more he feeds the more like Sherlock he becomes" she whispered. Lestrade smiled down sympathetically.

"I know you want to believe in him Molly, I know you do, but there's the problem right there. If he needs to feed, he needs to kill, and if he needs to kill it's my job to take him down" he finished, allowing a single solitary tear to roll down his cheek at the thought of killing his friend. Mycroft cleared his throat and stepped towards Molly, who had tears rolling down her face.

"Greg's right Molly, we can't allow Sherlock to run riot around the city, killing people left right and centre, its our job to take him down before he kills again- no matter how much we all care about him" Mycroft whispered.

"He didn't kill us did he?" Molly said bravely looking the two men in the eye, regardless of the tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. John looked up hopefully, from where he'd taken a seat.

She locked eyes on him, and saw the pain that this conversation had been causing him.

"Maybe- just maybe" she said keeping her eyes on John. "We can help him-save him". Mycroft looked down at her with a curious look in his eyes.

"You really believe in my brother, don't you Molly? He's very lucky to have a friend like you" he said, his voice cracking slightly. Molly chuckled, more tears rolling down her face.

"He doesn't consider me a friend-"yes he did- does... Why else would he have visited you Molly, he knows you would be the one who would believe in him and stop us killing him" John finished, getting up and laying a warm hand on her shoulder. He cleared his throat, looking away from the young woman who was looking up at him with sparkling eyes.

"So gentleman and lady... let me get this straight. Sherlock- he's a vampire. And we're going to save him- find him- then what?" John said, straightening his back and reverting back to his _army _voice. There was a moment's silence before they looked around the flat.

"Could this work- as a temporary holding pen?" Lestrade muttered. John pursed his lips.

"Well when Mrs Hudson died she left it to us, so it's as good as any- and maybe being in familiar surroundings might do some good, if Molly has it right" he said smiling down at the blushing woman.

John cleared his throat again, reaching for the gun in the side table drawer, and checked the number of bullets in the holdall beside it. Ignoring the disapproving glares from Lestrade, he placed it into his jacket pocket.

"Right guys, now, if we're going to do this we're going to do it now, before he kills anyone. Molly you stay here-" NO!" Molly cried, causing all the men to stare at her. John placed a hand on each shoulder.

"Molly, this is going to be extremely dangerous, we don't know how he's going to react, he could kill us all in the blink of an eyelid and we need someone to stay behind and board the windows and find something that will hold him in his bedroom on the off chance that we do bring him back here tonight." He said gently. Molly growled under her breath.

"No... I'm going. Get Mycroft's aid to board up the windows and find a holding pen, she doesn't need to know why- but he need's me. I'm going" she finished firmly. John nodded, placing his thumb under her chin.

"Your brave Molly, don't let anyone tell you otherwise." He said quietly. She nodded, a small quirk of a smile at her lips. John turned to the two men.

"Right Mycroft signal Anthea or whatever her name is, and then arm yourself. We leave in an hour" he finished.


	4. Chapter 4: Rediscovery

_Yes about the characteristics you will read about in this chapter... I took my favourite parts of each part of the vampire mythology and came up with this :D Part 5 will be up soon... I think this is kind of becoming a Molly/Sherlock fic- friendship or something more. What do you guys think of this pairing? Personally I love them (not as much as Sherlock/John) but they are such an underrated pairing... I don't know I may make a 'u' turn in part 5... Anyway enjoy!_

Part 4- Reunited

As with his brother, it took Mycroft less than an hour to work out where Sherlock had been hiding for the last 2 months. They all peered into the darkness of the abandoned underground line, the tiny lights of their torches making no real difference to the gloom within.

"This is the place" Mycroft whispered, feeling a cool breeze brush over his neck making his hair stand on his neck. John nodded, gingerly taking a step into the tunnel. The others followed slowly, silently.

When they reached the halfway point of the tunnel, Molly thought she saw movement from the corner of her eye. Tugging John's sleeve she pointed to an off section of the tunnel, mouthing that Sherlock was in there.

The reality was much more horrific. A woman in a black leather jacket and trousers was stalking around the curved room, pouting her red lips and laughing in a manic way.

Hanging from chains on the wall, looking positively starved was the thin and tired looking Sherlock, a hungry glint in his eyes as he watched the woman bend over the a large set body, shaking and whimpering on the floor. She sucked hungrily, the body screamed in pain and Molly realized with a jolt in her stomach that the woman lips could not be naturally that red. She gulped back vomit, knowing the noise and sound would immediately give their position away.

"Oh Sherlock... you knew her didn't you" the woman said in a Texan twang. Lestrade clasped a hand over his mouth as he realized who the body in the room was. John placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"That's Mrs Johnson, the coffee lady at Scotland Yard" he whispered. They watched in horror as the American woman caressed the ladies quivering cheek, before grabbing the neck and snapping the bone and puncturing artery next to it.

Sherlock groaned in want and horror as the metallic smell and taste of blood filled the small room. The group of 4 watched, as the woman's body was dragged without dignity towards Sherlock, placing her bleeding body at his feet. The Texan was laughing as she unclipped Sherlock, allowing him to fall painfully to the floor before the woman's neck.

Sherlock caressed the woman's face as the American had before.

"I'm so sorry" he whispered, blood tinged tears rolling down his face. He looked up and locked eyes with John. There was a moment's surprise as he realized who it was, before he regained composure.

"Please forgive me" he said, his eyes flickering upwards to look at Molly. With that he sunk his teeth into the woman's neck, the tears still freely flowing down his face as he drank from her lifeless body.

No sooner had he sunk his teeth into the woman's neck, the other vampire gave him a sharp elbow in the side. Sherlock howled rolling onto his side, clutching his now broken rib. She bent over him, her face teasing and her back to the group watching on the sidelines.

"That's what you get Sherlock. For going to see your little friends, your brother... _Molly_." Her lips spread into a smile as Sherlock jolted at Molly's name.

"Don't you touch her" he growled threateningly, looking past the woman once more. She laughed manically again.

"Oh but I will Sherlock, first Lestrade, then your brother, then John, then dear Molly... then I'll have you all to myself. Maybe I'll bring Molly here, and we can have a little fun with her first" she said teasingly, bringing Sherlock's face up to hers with taloned fingers, pressing them into his chin. She crashed her lips to his, ignoring his struggles.

Then there was a start. She released Sherlock allowing him to fall backwards in a heap. Looking down at her chest she saw the point of a wooden bat sticking out of it. Sherlock looked behind the woman in alarm and saw a pale and blood spattered Molly behind her holding the other end of the bat with a look of shock on her face.

Lestrade, John and Mycroft ran forward, finally coming out of their hiding place. None of them had been able to stop Molly running forward; Greg had managed to grab the sleeve of her jacket, the material now hanging limply from his hand. They pushed forward in front of Molly, Lestrade covering the shaking girl with his jacket and John and Mycroft holding guns at Sherlock.

"Don't try anything Sherlock or I will shoot" John growled threateningly. Sherlock nodded, pressing his lips together.

"I won't" he whispered, still looking at the crumpled body of his maker on the floor.

"We need to burn her" he continued. Mycroft pulled a bottle of petrol from his pocket and doused the body, setting it alight with the swipe of a match. They stayed watching the fire burn out, until there was nothing but ashes left, Sherlock wincing ever so slightly as he watched the charred remains turn into nothingness.

His attention turned to the other body in the room, his pupils dilated and the silver rings began to tinge pink as she saw the still fresh blood pouring from the holes in the woman's neck. He whimpered, looking thoroughly ashamed of himself as his fangs automatically began to elongate and sharpen as his body recognised its food source.

"Sherlock" Lestrade began threateningly, raising his gun to point as the pale man's face. He turned to them his eyes wide and hungry.

"But Gre-"he started, his eyes roaming back to the body. Lestrade cocked his gun but was stopped by an elegant hand on his arm that pushed the barrel to the floor.

"Think about it-" Molly whispered talking for the first time since she'd staked the other vampire.

"He needs to feed, and he won't be accountable for his actions if we allow him to go without. Now I know you knew her Lestrade, I knew her too, but this is the only way I can see a solution at the moment that doesn't involve Sherlock killing someone" she finished, still continuing to lower the man's arm and the gun with it.

Lestrade shook his head, tears filling his eyes.

"No- no" he choked. "She deserves respect, dignity; she doesn't deserve to die like that". Sherlock looked at the body before them.

"Did_ I_ deserve to die like that then?" he whispered, sounding more like his old self than before.

There was no answer from the people that stared down at his crouched form over the body. All the people in the room were suddenly reminded of the old Sherlock, who would crouch over bodies to examine them and John even noted that he had the same hungry look in his eye. He stepped forward.

"Lestrade, Molly's right" John piped up. All eyes in the room snapped to him.

"She's dead, there's nothing we can do- wouldn't it be better to allow Sherlock to feed on the dead and stop him killing someone else." He said softly, placing a soft hand on his friends shaking shoulder. Lestrade growled softly, turning the gun back on Sherlock.

"There is another option, one that would mean that no one would ever have to die because of him" he said, clicking the safety off. John and Mycroft froze, poised ready to do something if Lestrade tried to shoot Sherlock, Sherlock himself remained still, his eyes on the gun, hovering over the body.

"If you're going to do it, do it quickly and properly" he simply said, closing his eyes. Lestrade stood firm, the only sign of his discomfort the slight shake in his hands.

"Could you do it?" Molly said from beside Lestrade. She made no attempt to lower the gun in the man's hands as she'd done before.

"Could you honestly kill him, could any of us?" she said looking around at the men. Sherlock surveyed him from his crouched position, his eyes roaming over her face until their eyes met. She gave him a small smile that was unsurely returned.

"It's still him- look, in the eyes. Don't tell me you don't see it Greg, if you don't see it I won't do anything to try and stop you" she said as she took a step back.

Lestrade quivered as he looked at the man- no the monster before him. The image of the young girl from the previous night flashed into his mind and he walked forward, pressing the barrel of the gun directly to its head. The silver eyes flashed upwards, and he stared at him for a moment before a single bloody tear fell down his cheek. It lowered his head, giving him a better shot to blow the things still brilliant brains out. Another tear dropped onto the floor, the drop heard by everyone in the silence of the room.

After what seemed like an age, Lestrade gasped, dropping the gun. Mycroft rushed forward, retrieving the weapon and getting it as far away from Greg as possible as John enveloped the shaking man in his arms. John rubbed his back soothingly as he looked over his shoulder to Sherlock.

Bloody trails littered his face. John nodded to the body before turning his attention back to the sobbing Lestrade. Molly was the only one with her eyes on Sherlock as he sunk his fangs into the corpse.


	5. Chapter 5: Resting

Part 5- Resting

1 WEEK LATER

"How is he?" Molly whispered to John as she padded as quietly as she could into the flat. John pursed his lips and shook his head.

"He hasn't said a word since we got him back here- he seems so ashamed of himself and what's he's done- he somehow got the newspaper article of Mrs Johnson's _accident. _He destroyed his phone and his laptop in his rage." He sighed.

"Sometimes I think we should have-"Don't John" Molly interrupted, closing her eyes and holding a hand up for silence.

"Please don't regret what we've done now, we've staged an accident, I've forged an autopsy and all for him- I know he's in there" she whispered. John sighed.

"You've always had too much faith in him Molly" he said, shaking his head and looking up towards the ceiling.

"You ever think it's that you don't have enough?" she replied. John turned back to her, a confused expression on his face.

"Maybe that's why he hasn't responded to anyone else... now will you please let me see him, alone?" she pleaded, her eyes wide. John thought for a moment, steepling his fingers like Sherlock used to.

"Right, ok- ok. But you're not going in there unarmed." He stated.

Sherlock emitted a tiny growl as the chains on the other side of the door rattled. He tugged half-heartedly at the chains that kept him out of reach of the people entering the room.

Normally timid but this time so brave and so strong Molly pushed the door open slightly allowing a tiny sliver of sunlight to enter the room from the window opposite his door. Sherlock hissed, raising his hand to his eyes. The whole myth about sunlight burning them up was utter bull, and neither did they sparkle in the sun, but there was no doubting that sunlight did not agree with him.

Molly rushed inwards quickly shutting the door and clicking the light on. Unnatural light flooded the room and Sherlock sighed in relief as the natural light ceased to irritate his eyes.

"Sorry, John made me bring it in" Molly said awkwardly, waving the piece of wood around. In the light the blood on the homemade stake shone brightly and Sherlock felt sick to his stomach at how confidently she was holding it.

"The stake suits you Molly" he said huskily, his voice weak from not talking for a week. Molly's eyes snapped upwards at his familiar voice.

"I thought you weren't talking to anyone" she replied sarcastically. Sherlock smirked, his lips twitching.

"No- I wanted to talk to you" he said. Molly looked at him confused.

"You saved my life... in a sense" he finished. Molly laughed softly.

"What do you want this time?" she chuckled. Sherlock was suddenly very serious.

"The same thing I wanted last time I saw you... that night in your dreams" he said. Molly's cheeks flooded with colour, Sherlock groaned as he saw the blood rush to her face, so tantalizingly close to the surface.

"I... I can't do that Sherlock, but I can give you this" she muttered, roaming in the pockets of the large coat she was wearing. She pulled out two bags of donated blood, and threw them to the man.

He caught them both easily with one hand and stared at the object. They were still warm from being inside Molly's coat, nearly at body temperature.

Greedily, without bothering with the screw top he sank his fangs into the first bag, piercing the plastic on one side and sucking noisily. The first was gulped down in a few moments; Sherlock licked his lips getting each of the precious droplets into his mouth.

"I recognized the taste of this second one" he whispered, motioning to the bag that he had settled into his hand to speak, his eyes flickering up to meet Molly's, the colour bright blood red from the recent feed. She flushed again, causing a groan to go up from Sherlock as he felt the hunger return.

"Yes- there's only so many bags that I can steal from the hospital, I had to supply some of my own" she said awkwardly, looking around the room avoiding Sherlock's probing eyes.

"Your- that was your own blood?" he said unbelievingly. She nodded, her eyes staring up at a mossy patch on the ceiling, aware that Sherlock's eyes were fixed on her, the pupils wide and hiding the unnatural red irises.

In horror Sherlock dropped the bag, his fangs retreating back into his mouth. The blood began to pool across the floor, the blood moving thickly into a deep red puddle. Molly rushed forward, grabbing the blood bag and stopping her blood from being wasted on the floor.

"For goodness sake Sherlock- it's out of my body, it's not harming me and I'm not having you waste it. Drink it" she hissed, thrusting the oozing bag back into his hands. She remained a hairs breath aware from the staring vampire, the stake clutched lightly in her hands.

Sherlock regarded her with his typical probing eyes. She looked exhausted, dark rings under her eyes, her eyes blood shot and her skin pale. He blinked, leaning the bag upright against the wall.

"Molly." He said simply. Her tired eyes flashed upwards, meeting his eyes properly for the first time since she'd entered the room. He continued to look at her.

"I was joking" he began slowly. Her brow furrowed.

"When I said I wanted your blood" he said, testing the words in his mouth. Her mouth curved upwards.

"Didn't seem like that the other night." she chuckled. Sherlock stayed stony faced for a moment, a look of confusion etched onto his face. Her smile broke that however as his face cracked into an uneasy smile.

They stayed chuckling for a moment before it faded into silence. The two remained, sitting Sherlock on his haunches in one of those awkward positions that everyone marvelled at him being able to sit in and Molly crossed legged less than a metre away. Sherlock looked down at his bloodstained hands before back to her face. She was regarding the bruise where the needle had punctured her skin earlier on in the day.

Strangely, Sherlock felt no hunger staring as he stared at the blood flushed skin. He slowly moved forward, hearing the chains that were binding him chink warningly to the woman who was now mere inches away from him. She looked up at his approaching form and made no attempt to move away, her grip on the stake loosened even more.

Sherlock locked eyes with her and he traced his finger over her arm.

"Why didn't you move Molly?" he whispered. She unbelievably moved even closer, perching on her knees so she was directly facing him, her eyes gazing deep into his.

"I'm not scared of you Sherlock" she said slowly as if she was making herself believe it. Sherlock's hand moved upwards, laying his palm against her smooth neck, feeling her skin flush and her pulse jump at his contact.

"I could kill you- break your neck, drain you dry." he said, huskily, fighting his natural urges to elongate his fangs and kill the woman who was so close, under his fingertips.

"But you won't" she whispered, raising his head to meet hers. She gave him a light kiss on the lips before moving slowly away from him. Sherlock remained frozen to the spot, his fingertips on his lips where her body heat still remained.

"I know you're not you at the moment- and I can't expect you to be for a long time, but I can wait. Everything's going to be alright Sherlock." She continued.

As the new Sherlock sat under her gaze, a small smile playing on her lips and her own blood spattered in tiny droplets on them, he knew that it would be. In the following months, he would go through terrible times, being released from his prison into a world of warmth and blood where it took all his willpower not to kill everyone in the room, all his willpower and a warm hand resting on his arm. Then out into the real world, were no-one knew of his affliction, where he would go on to be even more of a legend of deductive work, using his problem as a positive thing and using his given talents to use some good in the world, some people marvelled at how he caught the scent of the killer so quickly, Sherlock, John, Mycroft and Lestrade always had a chuckle at how apt this phrase was.

A world where he and Molly could go out, get coffee feel almost human, she made him feel human, with that slight brush of her warm skin over his ice cold hand as they spoke, or that smile that he swore sometimes made his heart start beating again. They never reached the closeness that they had felt with one another in his cage until 3 years later when finally with his urges fully under control and her being in no immediate danger, Sherlock arrived at her door, his hair mottled and wet from the run in the rain and initiated they're first proper kiss.

It seemed that for Sherlock, as he lay beside Molly on the sofa, his hand nestled in her hair and head on his lap fast asleep, that everything no matter how bizarre and extreme it was had happened for a reason, and in a strange turn of events had made him more human. And everything as how it should have been.

* * *

Oh god... that's a corny ending and I did make it Molly/Sherlock. It's just it seemed proper, her being his knight in shining armour and all. I wasn't kidding this was going to be only a few chapters long because if I let it grow it would have ended up being about 20 and them I would never get anything else done. Hope you enjoyed reading this, I sure enjoyed writing it and maybe, just maybe there may be a sequel or a one-shot in Molly and Sherlock's future or something... I know as much as you do at the moment. Anyway, this is me saying goodbye to this fic. Over and out. :)


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